The eight-foot tree had been left bare—Suzanne was keeping that as a family affair. Her mother would love that. Not.

“It looks like the Christmas fairy threw up in here.”

“Good.” Winona sighed. “Our work here is done.” She stood, leaving a half glass of wine untouched. “Well, I better get going. I have a date with Bob and Ray at the old folks’ home tonight.”

“I’ll be off, too,” Suzanne said, also standing, seeing her opportunity to escape.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to watch the differing shades of horror constantly shifting over Grady’s face as he spotted some new insult to Christmas. And she really didn’t want to be here when he discovered that she’d switched his toilet seat out for a special festive one. Nuts and holly and red berries were encapsulated in the clear plastic ring, along with Santa in a laden sleigh being pulled by reindeer.

And then there was the super kitschy snowman toilet lid cover and mat. The lid cover was the snowman’s head, complete with a pipe for a nose, and the mat on the floor that sat snug around the pedestal was the snowman’s body. Maybe worst of all was the three-foot inflatable Santa that currently sat in the Adirondack chair on the front porch, some green tinsel tied jauntily around his neck. She definitely didn’t want to be here when he spotted it.

Or when he discovered the cherub painting propped against the wall in his bedroom.

Grady didn’t say anything as they left; in fact, Suzanne wasn’t sure he even noticed as he turned in slow circles, taking in the full festive purgatory of it all. It was probably best to just slip out anyway—he needed time to get used to his new surroundings, and she’d be here with him soon enough…

…

The next evening, washing up in the mudroom, Grady winced at the lights twinkling from the cabin. They’d greeted him from a mile away like Santa’s fucking lighthouse as he’d driven in from the eastern boundary. But the normal house lights were on, too, which could only mean that Suzanne was inside.

Probably committing god knew what sin against Christmas in his cabin.

He’d been worried that having all those decorations in his place would bring back memories of long-ago Christmases. Ones he’d locked in a box inside his head marked do not open. He needn’t have worried. Suzanne’s unholy Christmas horror show was more the stuff of nightmares than fond memories.

And he was right in the middle of it all.